


It's Simple Genetics (I'm the Y to his Y)

by sunsetmog



Series: Science Can't Explain (It's In His DNA) [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Baby Fic, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remember that one-in-fifteen-thousand gene anomaly thing?"</p><p>"It's what makes me beautiful," Nick says sagely, miming flipping his hair.</p><p>Or: more mpreg verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Simple Genetics (I'm the Y to his Y)

**Author's Note:**

> Set about eighteen months after _Halfway Down The Stairs_. Thanks to **mrsronweasley** for talking to me about this verse over many, many, many emails. This verse is fairly epic in our heads, I think. I have about three ficlets started that go inbetween these two stories, but this is the one that got finished first. :)
> 
> Nobody cries in this one. I feel like I should apologise for that. I really like it when they cry, but this one is unadulterated sap. 
> 
> Read over, but not formally betaed. Title and series title belong to Little Mix. Sort of.

Nick's sprawled out on the sofa watching Peppa Pig with The Robin when he hears the front door go. "Hi, love of my life," he calls out. "Light of my existence, etc. Do us a cup of tea."

Harry falls over The Robin's buggy in the hall, and stumbles into the living room. He looks a bit dazed. "What?"

"Tea," Nick says patiently, waving his hand in the general direction of the telly, and The Robin, who's sitting in his lap paying more attention to his hipster elephant soft toy than Peppa Pig. "Do us a brew, will you? I'm parched. Say hi to Daddy, love."

The Robin waves his hand, and his hipster elephant's hand, and then bounces up and down in an annoyingly uncomfortable way due to the close proximity to Nick's stomach. He's had a very exciting day of very tiring things that have included, but are in no way limited to: playing with Puppy, putting wellies on to toddle in the puddles in the park, assisting with the buying of cheese from Waitrose, watching Peppa Pig, crayoning, and taking the clothes off his hipster elephant and putting them back on again. It's important that he relay all of this information to Harry, and that this process include _bouncing_. Nick's regretting that second cheese toastie for lunch. 

Nick is actually exhausted, although The Robin looks like he could go again. He's a wind up and watch him go kind of child.

Harry, however, still looks slightly bewildered. He's made no move to go and put the kettle on, or to come over and kiss the most important men in his life hello, which Nick is taking as a personal affront. There are two Jammie Dodgers left in the kitchen, and he'd hidden them from The Robin so that he and Harry could have one each with tea, but it's looking quite a lot like Harry isn't getting one if he doesn't get his arse across the living room in exactly seventeen seconds. 

"Everything all right?" Nick asks, after the seventeen seconds are up and Harry's still standing in the doorway with one shoe off and one shoe on. 

"Um," Harry says. He blinks a bit, and manages to remove half of his coat before seemingly forgetting the second half. Nick and Harry are the best parents in the world, honestly. They can totally look after themselves, and their child too. Mostly. "So, uh, like."

"Harold," Nick says, over the excited babble of their child, who is fucking obsessed with the Velcro knitted cardigan his hipster elephant is wearing, and who tells them about it nine hundred times a day. "Harry—"

"Remember that one-in-fifteen-thousand gene anomaly thing?"

"It's what makes me beautiful," Nick says sagely, miming flipping his hair. 

"Um," Harry says again, and he's looking a little bit pink. "What do you think the odds are of us both being one of those one-in-fifteen-thousand? Sort of, I don't know, high, right?"

Nick goes very, very still. "High, I'd think." 

"Surprise?" Harry says, softly. 

"Oh god," Nick manages. "Are you—"

"If you want to call this one Jim Beam I'm disowning you."

"You're, um—" Nick says, and it is _totally fucking okay_ that he's lost all eloquence at this moment in his life. He's barely managing vowel sounds. He waves a hand in the general direction of Harry's stomach, and desperately, desperately tries not to want too early or too much. 

"Knocked up," Harry says, a little shyly. 

"Christ," Nick says. 

"Christ," The Robin echoes, hugging his elephant. 

Harry makes a face at Nick that looks like it's supposed to say, _don't teach our son to swear_ and _please don't leave me_ and _whoops_ and _yay?_ all at the same time. He's frighteningly easy to read, all things considered. 

Moving, Nick thinks, is overrated. Being frozen in position is a much better life choice. "Are you sure?"

Harry nods. "Been to the doctor and everything."

"Christ," Nick says again, because he can't breathe, and he can't tear his eyes away from Harry, in the doorway of their living room, half-wearing a coat and with one shoe on, and this is one of the most famous boys in the _world_ , and he's his. He's his, and Nick's knocked him the fuck up. 

He's knocked up Harry Styles. 

After a very long moment where neither of them say anything, and Nick considers a small but varied selection of vowel sounds with which to verbalise his feelings right now, Harry comes over and picks The Robin up, burying his nose in his curly, sticky-up hair. Nick stays just where he is, sprawled along the sofa. "Hi, baby."

"Daddy," The Robin says, rubbing his nose over Harry's cheek. 

Nick slides his hand around Harry's knee, stroking his thumb over the seam of his jeans. Harry's looking down at him, even as he's kissing The Robin's forehead and holding him close. He's flushed. 

The Robin rubs at his eye with his fist. He hides his face in Harry's neck; he's clearly sleepy all of a sudden and ready for a nap. There's no in-between for him, he's either wound up and running, or suddenly fast asleep.

"Nick—"

"I'll put him down for his nap," Nick says, stumbling to his feet. His heart's pounding. A baby, another baby, _their_ baby. A tiny brother or sister for The Robin. "Don't you move a muscle, Harold. I'll be—I don't know. A minute. Don't move." 

It's closer to five minutes, by the time The Robin's settled, surrounded by his hipster elephant and his hipster monkey and his ridiculous One Direction Build-a-Bears, personally customised by Harry's bandmates and probably worth a small fucking fortune. He runs down the stairs and back into the living room, coming to a breathless halt in the doorway. 

Harry's right where he left him, but he's managed to finish taking his coat and shoes off, which Nick's taking as a positive step. 

"You're pregnant," Nick says, crossing the room in two strides. He cups Harry's flushed cheek in his hand. "I got you pregnant."

"Yep," Harry says. He shifts so he can press his mouth to Nick's palm. "I'm going to have a baby, Nick. A _baby_." He meets Nick's gaze, eyes shining. "You happy?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Nick manages. "Like—I'm so far beyond happy I can't even make fucking vowel sounds. It's taken me this long just to remember how to make words." He tilts Harry's chin up, walking him backwards until he backs into the sofa, pushing him gently down onto the cushions. He slides the flat of his hand over Harry's stomach as he kneels over him, pushing up Harry's shirt so that he can duck down and press his mouth to Harry's skin. "Hi, baby. Hi, kid. You're just a tiny bean at the moment, but fuck, you're going to be loved."

Harry slides his hands into Nick's hair, holding him there. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You knocked me up first, that's what," Nick says. "Knocked up by a teenager; do you remember the fucking Daily Mail?"

"Don't worry about them," Harry tells him, just like he always does. The person who gets worried about the press in this relationship is Nick, and he can't see it changing any time soon. 

Nick shifts so that he's kneeling up over Harry, his necklaces hanging down. 

Harry tucks them into Nick's t-shirt, homely-like. 

"You happy?" Nick asks, all of a sudden. Having The Robin when Harry was nineteen was one thing; this is altogether different. Harry's twenty-one, for a start, but it's his tour schedule that's going to be fucked up when he's too pregnant to do all that running around and jumping on stage that One Direction demands he do in place of a Justin Timberlake-inspired dance routine.

"Yeah," Harry says, and he moves a little, so that there's a gap for Nick between Harry and the back of the sofa, and he can slide on in and have Harry wrap his arms around him. Nick nudges at his mouth in a kiss. "Really happy."

"Me and you and The Robin and the baby," Nick says. 

"Me and you and The Robin and this tiny bean," Harry counters, hand sliding over his stomach.

"How far gone are you?" He can't believe they're having this conversation. Excitement is twisting around him in tiny beams of dancing light. They're having a _baby_. 

"Five weeks, they think."

"Too early to tell anyone."

"Yeah," Harry says. "Let's just keep it between ourselves for a bit. Just you and me."

Nick nods, and presses his mouth to Harry's throat, his chin tilting up to give him better access. "Best fucking secret ever."

"Yeah," Harry says, and shifts a bit. "You going to let me blow you in celebration, or not?"

Nick snorts a laugh. "I fucking love you," he says, just in case Harry doesn't know that Nick would walk through fire for him. "Like, more than anyone and anything." He doesn't often say it out loud. He doesn't often _think_ it, even. It's not the kind of thing he does. 

Harry's arms tighten around him. "I know," he says. "I always know."

"Let me blow you first," Nick says, because the answer to emotions is always oral sex, or it should be. "Seeing as though I knocked you up, the least I can do is suck you off."

They don't talk about the birth, or about Nick nearly dying last time, or The Robin not breathing, but it's there all the same, silent in the corner, already settling in Nick's stomach like a cold, heavy weight that he's trying to ignore. 

"All right then," Harry says, and Nick crawls back to where he can pop open the button on his jeans, and pull his pants down to mid-thigh. 

At least with a blow job he can guarantee a satisfactory ending.

Afterwards, when Harry's come with a bitten off _Nicholas_ , and his hands in Nick's hair, Nick crawls into the space between the back of the sofa and Harry, and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, thumb stroking over his tummy. 

"You know the gossip sites are going to ask if we know how to use condoms," Nick says, mouth pressed to the back of Harry's neck. "This is two unplanned pregnancies in a row."

Harry settles back against Nick with a wriggle. He slides his fingers into Nick's, and lifts their joined hands up so he can press a kiss to the back of Nick's hand. "Let them say whatever the fuck they like," he says, voice even slower than normal, post-orgasm. "You want me to wank you off?"

"Sexy," Nick says, but he kind of does, so they shift themselves around a bit so that Harry's rolled on to his side and Nick's pressed up against the back of the settee, jeans down to his thighs. "Hey," he says, as Harry's licking his palm and then wrapping his hand around Nick's dick. "Wait until you get to the part where you're so pregnant you can't see your dick anymore. Or the bit where you have to sit down to piss because you're the size of a house, or the part where—"

Harry shuts him up with a kiss. "I love you," he says softly, thumb stroking the tip of Nick's dick, "but if you don't shut up then I'm going to make you sleep outside in the shed."

"We don't have a shed," Nick points out, since they don't exactly have much of a garden, either. 

"Well then," Harry says. "Maybe we should get on that." He's wanking Nick off exactly the way Nick likes it. This is what practice and familiarity get you: good hand jobs. Nick loves him. "You know, before this family is me and you and The Robin and this tiny bean, we should, you know, get a house with a proper garden. Room for a shed."

"You can't have any alcohol for _nine whole months_ ," Nick says, because if he thinks too much about their family growing and a house and a shed and the four of them and Puppy together his heart might actually explode from wanting it so much. "What are you going to do?"

"Make you stop drinking with me, in solidarity," Harry says, and then he squeezes Nick's dick, and Nick makes a sad, high-pitched, desperate kind of a noise and his hips rock up into Harry's hand. 

"You wouldn't. I've already had to give it up once. It's not my fault I knocked you up—"

Harry kisses him then, hand to Nick's cheek, fingers splayed. "I love you," he says, again. 

Nick lets out a long, ragged breath. "Right back at you," he says, in between kisses. "You and our shed and The Robin and little Jim Beam here."

Harry laughs then, and rolls Nick onto his back so that he can straddle him. Nick goes easily, his heart pounding. Harry's still wanking him off, and Nick's edging closer to his orgasm. He can feel it starting to tremble over his skin. 

"We're not fucking calling it Jim Beam," Harry tells him, twisting his wrist in the way that Nick likes so much. 

"You say that _now_ ," Nick says, but Harry shuts him up with a kiss. 

"You going to come for me, or what?" Harry mouths at his throat, shifting a little so that he can sink his teeth into Nick's shoulder. 

"Christ," Nick manages, his hips rocking up. God, he got Harry _pregnant_. 

A _baby_. They're having a baby. 

"Want to make you come," Harry tells him. 

_All right_ , Nick thinks, and then he does, fingertips pressing echoes into Harry's skin as he comes. 

Harry grins down at him, eyes bright. 

"Yeah?" he says, finally. 

"Yeah," Nick says, and kisses him.


End file.
